


Insides

by thecolourclear (afinch)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-13
Updated: 2006-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afinch/pseuds/thecolourclear
Summary: "Molly," Josh whispers, pulling her effortlessly into his lap. "Molly, tell your fake Uncle Josh what's the matter."Molly laughs – hiccoughs really, and then, remembering what they are talking about, starts to cry again. "I don't know, I don't know."





	Insides

Josh smiles as he lets himself in the backdoor of Toby's small house unannounced. Twelve year old Molly seems unfazed, "Hi Josh." 

"It's Uncle Josh. Whatcha working on?" he asks, with a hint of boyishness in his voice. 

Molly covers her paper and pulls it on her lap. "Nothing, _Josh_ ," she answers, slightly annoyed he'd asked. 

Josh only grins in response and takes two steps over to her, "Becoming a writer just like your dad, huh? Come on, let your Uncle Josh see." 

She juts out her lower lip and protests, "You're not my uncle." 

He winks at her, "I'm close enough. I'm your favourite Fake Uncle, remember? Now … let me see how wonderful of a writer you're going to grow up to be." He does not notice the way her hands tremble when he reaches for the paper, or the terrified look on her face. She swallows her protests and looks angrily at the awful linoleum tile on the floor. 

"What the hell …" Josh says softly, reading the first two lines of the poem that had been in Molly's lap. _For children who were broken/it is hard to mend_. And then two lines later, _Our parents said they loved us/but they never acted that way_. It is a poem of the emotional abuse of a parent to their child. Josh manages to fumble for a chair as he reads the rest of the lengthy poem. 

"I didn't write it," Molly says quickly as Josh looks up at her, his face horrified. She looks away, "I didn't write it." 

"Has Tob – your father – seen this?" 

"You can't show it to him!" her voice rises an octave. "Please, Josh, you can't! Promise you won't!" 

"Did you write it?" he asks, his eyes narrowed and burrowing into hers. Since he's left the White House, he's become a father himself, to a beautiful bouncing baby girl named Alice after his mother. The thought of any child going through the horror of the poem – the thought of that any child being Molly – sent terrifying waves through him. Toby would never – ever – yell at his children. Not in the horror like this, he wouldn't. "Molly?"

She squirms away from his glance. "I didn't write it," she whispers. "Please don't show my father?"

He's about to ask her who wrote it and why Toby can't see it, and most importantly, if someone's in trouble now, but a soft quiet voice from the doorway interrupts them.

"Don't show me what, Molly?" 

Panicked, Molly turns to Josh, pleading for a way out. Whatever it is about this poem, she really does not want her father to know about it. She does not want him to ask certain questions. He follows his daughter's glance and at the paper Josh is covering with his hands. 

"What is it?" he asks with a hint of anger in his voice. He's had a long day at work, fighting with some undergraduate about Bartlet's Third State of the Union and some economic theory. One would think that seeing as he wrote the speech, he'd be the best authority on it, but no, this student had to go and get some source from somewhere that _obviously_ analysed the speech better than Toby could. Toby wasn't in the mood from any more bullshite. 

Josh holds up his hands, "Toby …" He lets the name hang in the air, swallows and lowers his hands. "Go back to seething. I've got it from here."

And only because they are both fathers, and only because he does have to seethe, and only because he trusts Josh implicitly does Toby turn and head back to his tiny closet of a den. 

Molly starts to cry. Her father doesn't know, this is true, but Josh does, and she's not sure if that's better or worse right now. She shoots daggers at Josh as he does not move to offer her Kleenex or anything. Josh's face remains impassive and she instantly regrets it, "Sorry." 

Now that Molly's opened the conversation wheel, Josh jumps back in, "Why don't you want your father to read it?" 

Molly struggles to form the right words, and Josh can see that she's well on her way to becoming a mini-Toby – assigning value to every word in an attempt to speak for as little as possible.

"Huck's at therapy right now." 

Five words and Josh thinks he's a bit closer to understanding, "You don't want to go." 

She shakes her head to the non-question and again stares at the linoleum, knowing there's more questions to come. 

"Who wrote it?" He reaches out this time, takes one of her hands in both of his and searches his eyes. "And are they in trouble now?" 

She can't break from his gaze; she just clenches her sandwiched hand into a face and wipes angrily at her eyes, "I don't know who wrote it." The second question she avoids, daring herself – willing herself – to look away. Only she can't and her eyes fill with tears again.

"Molly," Josh whispers, pulling her effortlessly into his lap. "Molly, tell your fake Uncle Josh what's the matter.

Molly laughs – hiccoughs really, and then, remembering what they are talking about, starts to cry again. "I don't know, I don't know." 

"If someone's in trouble, you have to tell me." 

"NO!" she shrieks and Toby comes barreling into the kitchen, swooping Molly out of Josh's arms. He slides down against the kitchen counter, on the awful linoleum, stroking Molly's thick brown hair. She quiets herself to sniffles and Josh hands Toby the leaflets of paper. He reads them silently while Molly burrows into his shoulder, not looking at anyone or anything. 

"Molly?" he asks softly, his voice unable to hide his hurt betrayal.

"She didn't write it," Josh offers softly, tracing invisible designs on the tabletop. Toby nods his thanks and strokes Molly's hair some more, not sure what else to ask. "She wouldn't … she wouldn't tell me who was in trouble." 

Molly tenses immediately and breaks free of her father, standing between both men. "No one is!" she cries, stamping her foot. "No one is! I was in the library during math and it was in a book so I copied it! No one is and I don't know who wrote it!" 

Toby ignores – for now – the fact that she's been skipping math again and asks, with relief, "Why did you copy it down?"

She looks to Josh quickly, the panic again evident in her eyes. It is then that Josh realises that she does not know the history of Toby's father. That she copied this poem because it was her way of trying to get to know that part of her father that remains an enigma. "Did you think it was … pretty?" Josh comes up with. He runs a hand through his thinning hair, "Not pretty, but um … poetic?" 

Toby snickers, "I could write a better poem than this. The seventh stanza alone proves that." 

Molly nodded, "I wanted to write a better one." 

Toby seems to buy it, laughs even. Soon all three of them are laughing. Toby ruffles Molly's hair, "You're just like your daddy. Just don't tell your mother. Now, I need to go get Huck … I suppose you can stay here with Josh …" He turns to Josh, questioningly, "What _are_ you doing here anyway?" 

Josh grins and again that boyishness is back, "You went on a date last night, there'll be good leftovers." 

"You've been married _how_ long? What's Clare going to say when she finally finds out you hate her cooking?"

"The only way she'll find out is if you tell her," Josh laughs. "Besides, Alice would back me up. Mutiny against her mother? Alice'll be all over that."

"You can have the pork." 

Josh makes a face as Toby leaves, but turns to grin at Molly, "Guess the date didn't go well at all, did it?" 

"Are you going to tell him?" Molly asks nervously. All her father's dates go bad, Josh knows this. _Uncle_ Josh, the one who confided to her two years ago that her father was always going to have bad dates. She and Huck have been keeping track -- yes, they are all bad. She stares at him impatiently and asks it again.

"Are you ever going to ask him about your grandfather?" he jests back. 

Again, she chooses her words carefully, "It's Grandparents Day at school next month." 

Josh sighs and pulls out the Styrofoam take-out, spooning the potato and green beans on a plate. He doesn't speak until it is in the microwave and the untouched pork is save down the disposal. "The other kids at school asking you anything?" 

The answer comes quick, "What's Murder, Incorporated?" 

"Something your father should tell you about." As he carries his plate to the table, he smiles at Molly, "He loves you, Molly. He may be fighting with his undergrads about who's smarter right now, but he always has time for you." 

"Would he be mad if I asked grandpa to go? Is he like the poem?" 

Now it is Josh's turn to choose his words carefully, "No, he wouldn't be mad – he won't be mad that you love your grandfather." He mulls over the second question, "No, your grandfather's not like that poem at all. But –" he waves his fork at her. "—Promise me that if one of your friends or someone else you know says their parents or aunts or brothers or anyone they know is like the poem, you'll tell me. Or your mother or father. Or a teacher. If anyone goes through what the child in that poem is going through, promise you'll tell someone -- an adult you trust -- what's going on." 

"Even Becky Snitterhousen?" Molly asks, looking unhappy at the thought. "I don't like Becky very much." 

"Even Becky Snitterhousen," Josh says. "Now promise. Do you kids still do that pinkie swear thing?" 

She dissolves into giggles, "Oh, Uncle Josh, you are _so_ old …" She quickly quiets down and hands out her pinkie, managing to hold her straight face until they have both let go and Toby and Huck are strolling through the door, Huck wandering over to Josh's plate and helping himself to a few green beans. 

Toby leaves the two boys alone and takes Molly into the other room to ask about skipping math. In turn, she'll ask him about Grandpa Jules. And as for Huck and Josh?

They're talking about football and the odds on the Super Bowl. Huck will probably convince Josh to make a bet. And Josh will roll his eyes and oblige, knowing if his team wins, he still won't see his twenty bucks again. 

But still, he has a crisp twenty for Molly too. He has a roll to maintain as favourite Fake Uncle, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Molly is reading is For Children Who Were Broken by Elisa Wise - http://exmormon.org/phorum/read.php?2,893679,894228,quote=1.


End file.
